


masters and kings

by alongthewatchtower



Series: let me give you my life [4]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Plug, Collars, Dirty Talk, Graves is Not a Nice Person, Intersex Credence, Lingerie, M/M, Magically Binding Vows, Power Imbalance, Ritual Magic, Weddings, gratuitous use of the word cunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 05:26:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongthewatchtower/pseuds/alongthewatchtower
Summary: Credence, at the Graves seat, in a house of parquay floors and ritual circles and a shining glass conservatory.





	

 

 

 

It’s two months into their bond before Graves finds the time to take Credence out to the estate.

 

It’s not that getting there takes time, not with wizarding transportation, but Graves knows the visit will take an entire day, perhaps two. He takes a three-day weekend, informs the DMLE that he won’t be reachable for anything less than a completely-exposed-to-the-No-Maj-world level emergency, instructs the House Elves to make the estate ready for their arrival, and watches his omega prepare.

 

 

Credence dresses carefully, as he always does, still marvelling over the fine things his generous alpha has provided for him.

 

Once downtrodden and abused, Credence is now a demure, obedient spouse - he stands tall, takes care in his appearance, makes sure to present himself with all the grace he can muster, polite and attentive. He charms effortlessly, winning over even the cranky nanny-Elf of Percival’s youth, Millicent, soaking up her lessons like a sponge, so very eager to please. He’s a submissive thing, Graves’ sweet omega, even with power humming under his skin, and his worshipful gaze follows Graves like a flower does the sun.

 

Credence selects his underthings with furtive glances at Graves from under his eyelashes; looking for approval as he reaches for black satin drawers, pulling them on slowly, shifting to adjust the sit of his cock. It’s a new addition, the delicate silver cage that controls his release _-_ the idea that too many orgasms could be somehow detrimental to his health is an idea Credence was quick to pick up on, and how his beautifully submissive boy blushed when he had to explain to his alpha that the pretty plug he’d sometimes wear in his ass would make his cock rise, that he couldn’t control it, and he had asked for _help_. Thus, the cage. When he bends to put on his stocking socks, drawing them up to the backs of his knees, Graves can see the flash of the jewelled plug between his boy’s cheeks. He hesitates over two black corsets, finally deciding on the firmer one with strict boning. Graves watches as his omega runs a finger across the laces at his back, and whispers the words to activate the self-lacing charm. Under Graves’ attention, his gesture pulls the strings tight. When Credence looks at his reflection in the mirror, he does so side-on, as if admiring the way his developing tits, just puffy little things, swell out from the line of his nipped-in torso. His body jerks when a wandless motion from Graves cinches him in that little bit tighter, and he blushes under the attention before continuing to dress.

 

 

Credence’s white shirt is buttoned all the way, as is proper, but has a low collar that shows a hint of collarbone and pairs well with the dove grey vest that buttons low, accentuating his narrow waist and the new, lush softness of his chest. His trousers fit as closely as is decent, and when he reaches for his fine leather belt, his hands don’t tremble.

 

“What a gorgeous thing you are,” Graves comments, watching his omega flush under the praise. He flicks his fingers and the jewellery case in the dressing room snaps open. When the choker floats toward him, Credence follows, a soft smile for his alpha as he sinks to his knees in front of where Graves sits in the armchair by the bed.

 

“You’re a worthy addition to the house of Graves, my darling,” he says, and fastens the delicate choker around his boy’s slender throat. Crafted out of obsidian and dotted with tiny rubies - from the same heirloom set as the one sparkling on the plug in his ass - it looks like a dark collar against his pale skin, marking Graves’ claim. Credence, raised in a puritanical household with no comforts at all, delights in his fine possessions, preening at the expensive jewellery, visible proof of his Alpha’s attentions.

 

 

 

*

 

Percival Apparates them both to the Graves estate shortly after lunch. The property is upstate, out of the city, and Credence marvels at the fresh, clean air even as he’s blinded by the sunshine of the bright spring day. 

 

“Welcome home, my darling,” his Alpha says in his ear, and in one swift movement, Credence finds himself in the man’s arms. He can’t quite contain a small, startled squeak, clutching at strong shoulders. His mate chuckles lowly at him, before beginning the short walk down the gravel drive to the grand stone building ahead. The whole place feels magic, the tingle of ancient wards making him breathless. This is the Graves family seat, entire generations of powerful witches and wizards born in this house. And his Alpha said _welcome home_.

 

The large, wrought-iron doors swing open in welcome, and Credence’s strong mate carries him effortlessly across the threshold. Credence gasps. The entranceway is dominated by a grand staircase, dark wood like two giant wings curling down to the ground floor, a sparkling chandelier twinkling above, nothing holding it in the air but magic. Even after two months of living in a fine apartment and being surrounded by expensive things, the contrast to the bare boards and draughty, cramped spaces of Credence’s childhood is startling. Once upon a time the grandeur would’ve made Credence feel small. These days, it just makes him so incredibly  proud, that he gets to be a part of the Graves legacy, so very grateful his Alpha found him worthy.

 

Percival lets Credence down with a nip to his throat just above his choker, and Millicent pops into view just as Credence is finding his feet.

 

“Everything is ready, Master Graves,” she says, stern as ever. Millicent is very old, a Graves Elf since before his Alpha was born. She’s been very helpful, quick to correct Credence or make suggestions as to how he could better represent his Alpha. Millicent taught him about fancy place settings and how to pour wine and helps Credence make sure everything is perfect for when his mate comes home.

 

“Excellent,” his Alpha says. “I have some things to go over in the study, but I’ll leave you in Millicent’s capable hands for the grand tour.” 

 

The little Elf huffs, and Percival shoots her a rare grin, before stepping in to claim Credence’s mouth in a kiss that makes his knees feel weak, at the thrilling, possessive way his Alpha’s mouth touches his.

 

“The next time I see you,” he says, voice low with promise, “it will be across the ritual circle."

 

Credence shivers, and watches as his Alpha turns and disappears down the hallway.

 

“Come on, then,” Millicent says. “Much to do."

 

What follows is not so much a tour of the house as a brief history, with pauses to meet the other Elves, to express his preferences for tomorrow’s menu, to wonder at one room after another after another. Credence tours sitting rooms, formal parlours, two separate dining rooms, a sunroom, and a library, but for every room he sees, Millicent mentions at least two more - Credence isn’t touring the bedrooms, or the nursery, or the weaving room, or Percival’s study.

 

The sun is low in the sky by the time Credence is led to prepare. Percival and Millicent had both explained what would happen, but Credence is nervous, and it shows as he slowly divests himself of his clothing, layer by layer, not blushing but still distinctly unsettled about doing so under a House Elf’s gaze. He’s still wearing his fine choker, and he’s clenched tight around the winking ruby plug that’s nestled inside his ass, the silver ring around his cock still cool and present, but otherwise, he’s stripped to his skin.

 

Millicent hovers as Credence lowers himself into a carved wooden bath, bubbling with hot water. It’s nearly scalding, but Credence ignores it, takes a handful of coarse salt and sage from the box in Millicent’s little hands, scrubs himself clean, every since of his skin. It makes him tingle all over, but he feels lighter somehow, and when he steps out of the bath and into the shining, white robe Millicent hands him, simple ties down the front and almost-invisible embroidery in runes along the cuffs, Credence feels calm. Prepared. He reaches out with a steady hand, fingers closing around metal so cold it feels like a bite, heavy with magic, and stands up straight.

 

“Now then,” Millicent says, looking up at him with shining eyes, turning him to face the heavy oak door that leads outside. “You’re ready, Master Credence."

 

Credence takes a deep breath, and opens the door before him.

 

He steps out onto cold stone - a winding flagstone path leading out past the formal garden and into a copse of trees, lit only by the light of the moon, cool under his bare feet. Clutching his ritual robe tight around him with his free hand, Credence tries to walk at an even pace, but before he knows it, he’s rounding the last bend, and entering a clearing.

 

Credence pauses, feeling the magic of the place humming under his skin, eyes taking in the circle of ancient stones, tall pillars at regular intervals in the cool grass, Percival Graves looking steadily back at him from the centre, before a giant slab of stone, set with an old, hammered copper bowl, and a steadily burning flame. He enters the circle with careful, measured steps, trying his best to respect this hallowed place.

 

When he steps up to the altar, across from his mate - all around them, a ring of fire flares into being, connecting the stone plinths and sealing them away from the world outside. It’s startling, but when he looks at his Alpha, he’s not afraid.

 

*

 

Credence is nervous, but he hides it well. He stares wide-eyed as the cleansing fire snaps into being around them. This ritual circle is controlled by the master of the wards, and responds to Graves’ will, but Credence doesn’t know that.

 

“Welcome, Credence,” he intones. “I stand with you on this night, in the ritual circle of my forefathers, ready to bind myself to you, to take you as my husband and omega, to protect and cherish for the rest of my days."

 

Credence’s pale, solemn face looks back at him, but his eyes are alight with nervous excitement.

 

“Kneel,” he says, and Credence obeys, sinking to his knees gracefully. “Credence Graves,” Percival says, “Do you come to this circle with love and trust in your heart, to join with your Alpha and forsake all others?"

 

“I do."

 

Credence doesn’t hesitate, his beautiful boy raising the athame, the sharp point of heirloom silver slicing into first one then both Credence’s palms, made smooth and unmarked by two months’ slow healing. He raises his head, offering the blade to Graves on his bloody palms.

 

Graves takes the athame, letting the blade bite into his skin, to mark him until he draws blood and his wounds match Credence’s own. He rests the athame carefully down on the altar, and then gently places his palms on his omega’s, fingers curling around slim wrists.

 

“Do you bind yourself to me of your own free will?” he asks, watching as a golden rope of pure magic hovers around and above their joined hands.

 

“I do,” Credence replies, and then his mouth drops open at the sting, the momentary burn as one strand of the golden magic disappearing into his skin. Of all the forms of ritual binding, Graves had decided this one for many reasons, not the least of how firmly it would bind his little omega to him - strict, irrevocable, eternal.

 

"Do you bind your magic and blood to mine, our souls intertwined forevermore?"

 

“I do,” he says, and doesn’t flinch when magic seals that promise, though Graves nearly stumbles at the touch of his omega’s magic, wild and pure, leaping into their bond eagerly, unrestrained and powerful. It’s far more than Graves had expected to feel from an untrained wizard he’s long suspected of being an almost-Squib. His little mate is so _very_  surprising.

 

 

"Do you vow to share in all the days of my life; home and hearth, sorrow and joy, pain and pleasure, malady and health, trial and victory, to be separated by neither time nor death?"

 

“I do,” Credence says, not watching where the binding settles into his skin, instead looking steadily up at Graves. He’s a vision in his ritual robe, all pale skin and dark eyes, on his knees with Graves’ collar at his throat and magic at his fingertips.

 

 

"Do you vow your loyalty and obedience to the bloodline of Graves, your faith in the nameline of your Alpha?"

 

“I do.”

 

His omega is irrevocably bound, now, they’re tied together by blood and magic and Graves’ knot, but even as the last golden rope sinks into his skin, Graves has one more claim to make.

 

"I, Percival Ignotus Graves, come to the ritual circle of my forefathers to claim you as mate, to bind you to me to share in all the days of my life; home and hearth, sorrow and joy, pain and pleasure, malady and health, trial and victory, to be separated by neither time nor death. I vow to protect and shelter you, body, magic and spirit, to guard you safe within my nameline as my husband. This I do swear, on my magic, on my blood, on my name."

 

He smiles, gentle and benevolent, at Credence’s happy, shining eyes.

 

"So mote it be."

 

With his final words, the flame on the altar goes out, and Graves feels the magic settle over them. The rush is heady, the taste of magic thick and cloying in the air, and he’s not surprised when Credence sags, as their magic mingles and Graves is buffeted by the surprising power of his new husband, a steady reserve of magic he can now call upon.

 

“There, my sweet boy,” Graves says, freeing his hands from Credence’s. “It is done."

 

Credence sways, and pitches forward. Graves is barely fast enough to catch him, and ends up doing so with a grip around his omega’s throat, leaving a mark of mixed blood that looks so very enticing on his pale skin, holding him up like that for a second before bending to get his arms around his little mate properly. For the second time in a day, Graves sweeps his omega up into his arms, and carries him into the house. The rush of magic is tingling up his spine, his cock hard underneath his ritual robe, his sweet little husband drowsy against his chest. Ritual magic is exhausting, yes, but tonight Graves is invigorated, aroused. No matter. He'll get his cock wet soon enough. He'll put his little husband to bed, heal his hands, and wait for the momentary exhaustion to pass.

 

 

*

 

Credence comes to on a low bed, a nest of pillows, tucked underneath a warm quilt. He sits up, feeling strangely weak, and notices he’s not in his ritual robe anymore, the his entire body is thrumming with magic, his skin sensitive and - _eager_ , almost, the skin of his palms whole and unblemished again, the place between his legs hot and slick.

 

The room he’s in wasn’t on Millicent’s tour. It’s big - big enough to be a ballroom, even, a giant space dotted with seating and lounges around the edges, but the size isn’t the most astounding thing about the room.

 

 

The entire room is glass.

 

Massive iron beams frame wide windows that look out onto the manicured garden of the estate, lit by moonlight and tiny balls of light like fireflies. The metal reaches up towards the heavens, strangely delicate wrought-iron twisting in curlicues towards the high ceiling - at least, Credence _thinks_  there’s a ceiling. There’s the impression of glass, some forty feet above him, but there’s no metalwork on the ceiling itself - just the faint outline of arching glass panels, and beyond that -

 

 

The stars.

 

Credence has never seen anything like it. The sky is clear, no factory smog hiding the stars from view - if Credence knew anything about Astronomy, he surely could name all the constellations. 

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?"

 

Credence turns to see his Alpha approaching, eyes dark, something predatory in his walk, clad in nothing but a black silk house-robe, open at the front to show the way he’s got one hand curled around his hard, ruddy cock. Credence blushes, even as his mouth waters. 

 

“It - it’s amazing,” he says, looking back up at the stars.

 

“It’s my favourite place on the whole estate,” his Alpha says, and the low bed shifts under his weight as he slips in between Credence and the pillows propping him up. “I thought it’d be the perfect place to spend your first night here."

 

“Thankyou,” he says, strangely breathless.

 

“Only the best for my husband,” Percival says, and Credence’s eyes snap to his Alpha. Credence is _married now_ , not just mated but _married_ , truly bound, truly _wanted_. “Which means that this is yours.” He holds up a hand, and Credence meets the gesture halfway, placing his hand in his _husband_ ’s. 

 

The heavy silver ring settles on Credence’s ring finger, tiny rubies dotted around the curlicues of the Graves family crest in black, silver wand and sword and three shining stars that look like diamonds.

 

“You’re a proper, wedded Graves now, my darling,” he says, and Credence scrambles to turn himself over, so that he can kiss his mate properly.

 

His kiss is desperate and somewhat clumsy, but he tries to put all he’s feeling into it; his gratitude, his devotion, his deep, abiding love, feels his Alpha smile into the kiss and then take him by the jaw, holding him still so he can plunder Credence’s mouth, leaving the omega weak, hands spread wide on his Alpha’s chest for balance.

 

Impatient fingers grasp at the ruby beneath his cheeks and pull, twisting the heavy plug in Credence’s ass, and Credence cries out as it bumps that place inside him that made him feel so good that time Alpha made love to him there, when Credence’s cunt was hot and sore and fucked-out.

 

There’s the blunt press of Alpha’s cock at his hole, and Credence knows it’s going to be one of _those_  times, when his Alpha just gets so caught up, so desperate to make love to Credence that things are fast and hard and rough, one of those times that leave Credence gasping and pleasantly sore.

 

Credence arches, trying to rub himself backwards and help get Alpha’s cock where it belongs, but Alpha just chuckles at him. He flicks at Credence’s hip. “Up on your knees properly, darling, and then maybe I’ll let you have my dick."

 

He raises himself up, a hand behind him on Percival’s strong thigh for balance, the other reaching underneath him to grasp his Alpha’s cock. “Please?” he asks, and it comes out like a whine.

 

“Please _what,_ ” Alpha tuts, reaching up to twist and pull at Credence’s puffy tits.

 

“Please _can I have your cock_ ,” he cries out, arching into the feeling.

 

“Of course, my darling,” is the response, and Credence lowers himself down with a moan, feeling his greedy cunt open and stretch, the place inside him that’s made for his Alpha’s cock. It’s not enough, though, and Credence lifts himself back up, sliding almost off before dropping back down, Percival’s strong hands gripping his hips and lifting him up and down even faster, taking what he needs.

 

“Pull them,” he grits out, and Credence obeys, takes his swollen nipples in his fingers and works them properly, twisting and pulling in the way that hurts with how good it feels, the way that makes his pussy twitch, makes him clench around the solid weight in his ass.

 

Percival reclines like a king, strong and handsome and perfect, eyes dark as he watches Credence rise up and down, fucking himself down on his Alpha’s cock.

 

“My sweet omega,” he says, voice nearly a growl. “Look at you."

 

Credence flushes, feels his breath hitch as his hole tries to clench on the first swell of Percival’s knot.

 

“So pretty like this, my choker at your throat and my ring on your finger.” He plants his feet flat on the bed and thrusts up roughly, “and that sweet little cunt - so eager to please."

 

Another thrust up. “Do you want it, my love?"

 

“Oh yes,” Credence sobs, feeling overwhelmed. His skin is tight with magic and his body desperately needs release, needs his alpha’s knot. “Please, Alpha!"

 

Percival surges up and flips them over, his cock driving even more deeply into Credence as he fucks back in, speeding up, taking his pleasure from Credence, rough in his need.

 

Credence looks into the eyes of his Alpha, his strong, wedded mate, and cries out as he feels his body catch as Percival comes. Breathless, he arches up as the silver ring around his own little dick relaxes, and his release splashes up his own belly, second to the feeling of his cunt locked and working on his Alpha’s knot inside him.

 

Above, the entire cosmos is spread out and shining down on them.


End file.
